A Crown of Roses
by The Wolf in the North
Summary: As the Lannister-Tyrell alliance strikes fear into Joffrey's enemies, Sansa finds herself suddenly befriended by some very influential people. However, when they reveal their true intentions to her she is left utterly amazed. Can she reclaim not only her dignity, but her life? Can she rebuild everything that her family has lost? Reviews are very much appreciated.
1. Part One: A New Woman

Looking out on King's Landing in the early hours of the morning was something that Sansa often did since the Blackwater; it was strangely calming. On this specific night, the waning moon was high above the endless expanse of ocean on the horizon, its pearly reflection rippling on the water. Punctuated occasionally by faint thunder in the distance, or the screech of cats fighting in the alleys of Flea Bottom, silence sat heavy upon the city; there was an unspoken, unmentioned aura of mourning amongst the people of King's Landing. From the lowest of the tavern wenches to the wealthiest merchant, all felt it – the survivors lamented their lost sons. Twinkling here and there in the city below, there were windows of houses where women probably looked out on the darkness the same as Sansa did now. How many of them had lost husbands, brothers, or even sons in the war so far? How many of them were desperate for news of some treasured relative in the Riverlands? How many of them would yet lose them?

Although her situation was more horrendous than anything Sansa had suffered in her life, she knew that other people were less fortunate. At least in the Red Keep she was fed and watered and kept warm; down there, people stole and prostituted themselves out just to stay alive. _No, _Sansa thought, _I am fortunate compared to them._

Starting as a purple smudge on the horizon, day crept up on the sleeping city. Yet again she had not slept a wink all night, but Sansa preferred that to the alternative. Every time she closed her eyes, she was ambushed by memories that she had forced to the very back of her conscious mind.

_Kicking the Hound as she had struggled frantically to reach her father before Ilyn Payne could bring the sword down on his bared neck…_

_Her dignity ripped from her in front of the entire court as Joffrey's cruel face leered down at her…_

_The Queen laughed at her as she sang a hymn, whilst a burning stag pranced around them. "Tears aren't a woman's only weapon, you know," she drained her goblet. "The best one's between your legs – learn to use it, little dove."_

And then the things that she had never seen would suddenly become vividly real to her.

_Her brother Robb held out his hand to a small old man that Sansa didn't recognise. The man shook her brother's hand, but as his right hand shook, his left hand plunged a dagger into the Young Wolf's gut…_

_Alone on a cliff, her mother stood with tears cascading down her cheeks. Hair flying forlornly in the wind, Lady Catelyn Stark stepped into the abyss…_

_Bran lay in his bed, legs useless, unable to move as Winterfell flooded with seawater. In the water was a kraken…_

Always Sansa awoke with the echo of wolves howling in her ears. If only she still had Maester Luwin for she was certain that the old man could have explained the strange nature of her dreams. But like so many, Winterfell's Maester was dead.

Whilst she had been lost in her thoughts, the dazzling disc of the sun had pierced the horizon and King's Landing was already beginning to bustle with fishermen and merchants and Tyrell soldiers, thousands of whom were arriving in the city with each passing week. Sansa was not ashamed to admit that the sight of them terrified her – Robb was said to be a great general, set to become a hero of the songs, but could anything stand against the power that now rallied itself to Joffrey? It was said that the Reach could field over eighty-thousand soldiers, whilst the North and Riverlands could maybe manage forty-thousand between them. Robb and her mother were outnumbered two to one, and she knew that there was a very real possibility that she would never see either of them again.

_How would I have reacted to that a year ago? _Sansa wondered. A year ago, she would have gone to the Queen, like a good little dove. She would have begged and sang pretty songs to try to persuade her beloved's mother to spare her family. She would have made them all laugh before they threw her songs back in her face.

No. Not now. Sansa Stark would not be belittled and manipulated, not again. Not by the Queen. Not by the Lannisters. And certainly not by Joffrey. When the time came, she would look them in the face and show them that the wolf still lived inside her; she would not flinch when they told her, or show them her tears.

_I was a girl then, _Sansa told herself. _Now, I am a woman._

After a light breakfast on her own, Sansa walked down to the sept, today wearing a grey-silver dress. In the sept, Sansa bowed her head in respect to the Septon before taking a seat on the benches next to a Lannister guardsman she vaguely recognised from Maegor's Holdfast. The Queen had told her that the guards would have sold them in an instant if the city fell. She wondered if this was true. As she began uttering prayers to the Mother and the Warrior for her family, she heard what sounded like giggling children approaching the sept and, turning round, quickly identified the source of the commotion. Margaery Tyrell and some of her highborn cousins had arrived to pray. Sansa knew she should resent the girl for taking away her chance to be a queen, but she wished her only luck – she would need it in plenty with Joffrey for a husband. With an exclamation of surprise, Margaery spotted Sansa.

"Lady Stark," she smiled sweetly and curtsied, her cousins following suit behind her. "I have been hoping to meet you for some time. Even as far south as Highgarden, knights have brought us stories of your grace and beauty."

"Do they also tell you that I am the daughter of a traitor and the sister of a rebel, my lady?" Sansa's tongue moved before she had time to think, and she immediately realised what a foolish thing she had said. "I-I apologise, I have had little sleep these last few weeks and I sometimes forget…"

"My lady, you have nothing to apologise for," Margaery patted her shoulder reassuringly. "Until a few months ago I was the daughter of a traitor and the sister of a rebel myself.

Sansa was shocked at the southern girl's forgiveness of her insolence; it had been so long since she had been able to speak freely to anyone that she had almost forgotten what it was.

"I thank you, my lady," remembering her manners, Sansa stood and curtsied. "But you must call me Sansa."

"Of course, Sansa," she grinned. "But _you _must call _me _Margaery."

The Tyrell girls giggled, and even Sansa managed to crack a smile. It was nice talking to this girl, she realised. She had not had much company since Jeyne Poole was taken.

"Now, Sansa," Margaery gestured towards the door. "It is most improper of me, but meeting you has driven all thought of prayer from my mind – the Seven shall wait till later. Will you walk with me?"

Sansa nodded as the other girls sat down in the sept and began to pray, allowing her and Margaery to leave alone.

"I am glad to speak to you alone," Margaery's voice had lost its girlish tone out in the courtyard, but it was not unkind. "First of all, Sansa, I want to give you my condolences for your lord father, who I know you must mourn deeply. I would be lost without my father - I cannot imagine how you must feel."

The girl's words didn't register for a moment, for it was so totally unexpected.

"It is not easy," Sansa had never told anyone in King's Landing this before. "I miss him every day. Every hour of every day. His execution has left a hole in my heart that shall be difficult to fill."

Margaery's eyes were sad as she spoke, yet there was something else in there that Sansa glimpsed. Anger? She could not tell for certain.

"I would also like to apologise to you," the Tyrell girl stared intently at her as she said this.

"For what?" Sansa blurted without thinking.

Margaery smiled knowingly. "I broke your engagement to Joffrey. You were going to become a Queen, and I put a stop to that."

"Oh, Joffrey," she said. "I mean, er, my heart aches for my beloved, but he has set me aside for one more worthy and more fair than myself. I pray that he shall be happy and that you shall bear him many children."

"Thank you, Sansa," Margaery nodded gratefully. "You have answered a question for me that I have long wanted to know the answer to. But anyway, my friend, I must leave you for now. It would however, be a great pleasure for myself and my grandmother if you would join us this evening for a meal in our quarters. She is also most excited to meet you."

"Of course, my lady," Sansa had time to curtsey once more before Margaery was gone, walking briskly to whatever urgent engagement called.

Sansa spent the rest of her day in the city, shopping alone. Many merchants tried to tempt her into their stores, perhaps seeing her as a young girl who was obsessed with beautiful things; that was the old Sansa and whilst she still wanted to look good, it no longer gripped and held her interest as it had once done. Instead, she made her way to Shadowblack Lane, a place she had heard of but never visited before. Much to her surprise, Sansa discovered that the place was actually quite interesting. Twisting and long, the lane was in the shadow of the Red Keep, but even that could not dampen her mood as she explored. In essence, the lane was completely dedicated to knowledge and books and the old men who found the knowledge and wrote the books. Never had Sansa made a hobby of reading dusty tomes, but today she couldn't stop. She found histories of the North, much deeper and in depth than Septa Mordane had taught her and spent hours reading them whilst a Maester from Oldtown paced about, seemingly finding it hard to believe his eyes. "A girl…" he kept muttering. "In my store…"

It was when the sun had reached its zenith and began its slow descent to dusk that Sansa's peaceful reading was interrupted. She had reached the Massacre of Moat Cailin, where five thousand Northmen repelled the King of the Vale and his famed Hundred Thousand Host once and for all, bringing about an end to their constant warring. The door to the store opened and in walked the Imp, one of the people Sansa least wanted to see. He was alone, Sansa noted, but since the Blackwater he seemed to have taken a back seat in the governance of the city.

The dwarf began speaking to the Maester who had now seated himself behind a desk at the back of the room, but then he noticed her. "Lady Stark," he nodded his head respectfully. "I must say I am shocked to see you here. Did you get bored of your fine clothes and gallant knights?"

"No, my lord of Lannister," Sansa spoke calmly and tried to put on the voice her mother would use on the few occasions that she had received bannermen or foreign visitors in her father's stead. "I still dress like a lady and I still believe in knights. It's just their gallantness that I begin to doubt."

Sansa thought that the Imp smirked then, although he seemed to grimace in pain. "Since when did you become clever?" he asked, waddling over to take a seat beside her. He peered at what she was reading. "_Maester Undamore's History of the North and House Stark_… I found that an interesting read, even if it did over-glorify your house."

"House Stark has held the lands of the North for millennia, my lord," Sansa said, snapping the book shut. "Against eagles and flayed men and krakens and even the Targaryens. My house has earned its glory."

"Against krakens, you say?" the Imp retorted. "Then let me ask you, who has conquered over half of your brother's kingdom? Who has taken the very seat of your house?" He laughed when she found that she had no reply. "I much prefer this side to you, my dear. What made you decide to set aside your dolls and take up the book?"

For a moment Sansa wasn't going to answer him, or at least not truthfully, but something persuaded her. Tyrion Lannister wasn't loved by his family, and unless she was very much mistaken he bore them even less love back. How many times had he saved her from Joffrey during her betrothal? It was perhaps possible to trust this little man with small secrets. "I'm fed up of being laughed at, my lord," she began, feeling her heart rate increasing as a newfound anger welled inside. "Fed up of being laughed at and mocked by your family and all the people in this damned city. Does anyone listen to me when I sing pretty songs? Does anyone care about the meek girl who allows herself to be manipulated and played with by Joffrey? No, that's the truth of the matter. So I'm going to change."

Tyrion watched her as she spoke, scarred brow furrowed in thought. He sat there in silence for a moment before he spoke. "No doubt if you'd said that in my sister's or the King's presence you would have regretted it," he sighed at last. "Lady Sansa, I wish you no harm personally. The crimes of your family do not say the slightest thing about you; why, if they did then I should be the most reviled person in the Seven Kingdoms! Oh, I forgot that I already am."

His following bark of laughter was bitter and humourless.

"You are guilty of nothing substantial I think, my lord, except being kin to oath breakers and murderers."

He continued laughing a second before arising. Even when he was standing, Sansa still looked down on Tyrion. "I thank you for your kind judgement but I have business in the Red Keep which, unfortunately, cannot be postponed," he turned back to the old Maester who looked nearly asleep. "I want the books on the Targaryen dragons brought up to my chambers this evening, if you please Maester. Farewell, Lady Stark."

And with that, the little man was gone. Noticing that the sun was descending in the rapidly reddening sky, Sansa nodded to the old Maester, returned the book and left, making her way back up to the Red Keep where she would find Margaery.

Sansa was surprised when, as she was hurrying towards the Red Keep, she nearly bumped into a green cloaked figure walking in the other direction. When she started to apologise she realised that it was Margaery herself.

"Margaery!" Sansa exclaimed in shock. "I was coming to meet you up at the Keep, I thought we were dining together?"

"Yes, I was just coming to Shadowblack Lane to find you," she smiled as Sansa looked confused. "I've just spoken to Tyrion Lannister, he told me you were there so I came to tell you that we shall be meeting in the army encampment outside the city."

"I thought your grandmother wanted to meet me?"

"Ah yes," Margaery laughed, shaking her head in mock-disbelief. "My lady grandmother is a very… opinionated woman, and she's not too trusting of our Lannister hosts. She requested that her tent be pitched next to Lord Redwyne who is her nephew."

_And she is not wrong to distrust the lions, _Sansa thought, but she merely smiled. "Am I allowed out of the city then?"

Her friend frowned in thought. "I hadn't considered the possibility that they might not let you out, but perhaps I should have. I will try to use my influence to persuade them, but if that isn't sufficient then we may have to postpone. Come, Sansa, we mustn't keep grandmother waiting, she will have both our heads."

And so they set off through the city on foot, something which would have created a stir if it happened during the day, but the most hassle they received was a shocked bow from a fishmonger and a couple of whispers as they passed.

When they reached the gates they were greeted by the usual burly guardsman in his gatehouse who seemed to be inflated by the fact that he had a spear in his hand and the right to use it. "The gate just closed, milady," he grunted. "You'll have to stay in the city tonight unless you've got a permit from the City Watch or a Small Councillor."

"Oh, really?" Margaery stepped into the light so that he could see her face clearly. "I am Margaery Tyrell, ser, I am going to meet my grandmother."

"Unless you have an official permit—" the man began.

"Ser, I would think that my station as future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms should be enough to grant me permission to leave the city as and when I wish?" she smiled sweetly.

"I…" the guardsman seemed only then to realise exactly who Margaery Tyrell was; Sansa didn't think he seemed all that smart. "Yes, I'll let you through, Your Grace, but… who is your friend?"

"My friend is Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell," Sansa stepped into the light too so that he could see her face. "Despite whatever you may have heard or been told about her it would mean a great deal to me if she could leave the city for a few hours to dine with me in my father's camp."

The guard shook his head so strongly that Sansa knew it would take a miracle to get her on the other side of the gate. "I've got strict orders from the Queen Regent and the Hand that the Stark girl is a royal prisoner and is to be let out of the city under no circumstances."

Yet at that moment there was a sharp rapping on the door on the other side of the room, the door which opened on the other side of the gates. The guard scowled and pulled the door ajar. "I am sorry, ma'am, but no one is allowed to enter the city until-"

"What are you talking about, man?" an impatient voice snapped. Next to her, Margaery breathed a sigh of relief. "I am Olenna Tyrell, mother of Lord Mace Tyrell and if you do not open this door right now I will see your head on a spike before you can ask for forgiveness!"

Cowed, the man pulled the door open to reveal an ancient woman with snow-white hair who was only about as tall as the man's breast.

"Ah, Margaery, there you are dear," she hobbled through the door casting a disdainful look at the bemused guardsman. Both girls curtsied when she looked at them, but the old lady rolled her eyes. "I'm not here to have you curtsey at me, I've come to see what's taking you so long. You were meant to be with me over half an hour ago."

"This delightful guardsman was unsure as to whether or not we're allowed through the gates, Grandmother," Margaery nodded towards him.

With deliberate slowness, Olenna Tyrell turned her head on the man and gave him a look so cutting Sansa wondered whether the Queen could rival it. "These are two ladies of families that could destroy you and your little gatehouse like stepping on an anthill. And you intend to _stop _them?"

It was a hilarious sight; the six-foot tall, spear-wielding man squirmed under the frail old woman's questions. Sansa had to resist the urge to laugh. _I now know why she is known as the Queen of Thorns._

"But… milady… the Queen's orders…" he managed at last.

"The Queen!" Olenna scoffed. "Tell me, dear boy, are you aware of what is going on outside this city right now? No, of course you're not, look at you. Well let me explain – the Starks, this girl's family," she gestured to Sansa. "Are tearing the Westerlands into bloody pieces whilst Tywin, Cersei and your King Joffrey hide behind this city's walls like a child behind its mother's skirts. O n the other hand, my granddaughter's family and mine have a host of nearly sixty-thousand men outside these terribly fragile walls. Now, ask yourself whether you want to get on the wrong side of either of them."

And then he gave up. "Just go, and if the Queen asks where she's gone you'll be the one to answer to her."

Lady Tyrell smiled exasperatedly, like a mother would do when her child doesn't get the point. "Come girls."

Sansa froze in sheer shock when she came out onto the other side of the walls.

Row upon row, tent upon tent, fire upon fire, the Tyrell camp stretched further than Sansa's eye could even see. Men laughing, and singing, and drinking, and shouting, men who would one day kill her brother's men, men who one day might even kill her brother. One day soon.

"Big, isn't it?" Olenna said.

"I… I never expected it to be this… huge," Sansa breathed, blinking.

Margaery slipped her fingers between Sansa's and guided her forwards, towards the first row of tents. "We'll speak when we have some privacy," she whispered. "We have something to discuss with you."

"Thank God my tent is nearest to the city, else I'm afraid I would need assistance," Olenna pushed open the flaps of the first tent on the right. "The frailties of age come to everyone, unfortunately." Inside, Sansa was surprised to see that the tent was as big as her apartments in the city and had all the necessary furniture; a proper bed, a chest, a table, four chairs and a washtub. "I had all of this brought down from the city when we arrived," Lady Tyrell explained. "I may not trust our Lannister _friends _to host us, but I don't think that they have yet mastered the art of using furniture to spy on people."

Margaery lit a brazier to warm the place up and sat down, whilst her grandmother called for her handmaiden. She arrived a minute later with two trays laden with bread, cheese, bunches of grapes and a jug of what Sansa recognised as Arbor gold. "Thank you, my girl," Olenna took the trays from her and placed them on her table. "Now leave us, and ensure that we are not interrupted for anything less than dragons."

The girl nodded dutifully and left.

"Now, Sansa," Margaery began. As she spoke, Olenna took some cheese and a slice of bread from the tray. "Grandmother and I have more to discuss with you than the usual mindless chatter that you are probably used to from the noble ladies in this city."

"Yes, indeed," her grandmother took a small bite. "Margaery here is soon to become Joffrey's queen. Unlike your mother and father, I am not going to allow her to enter into this blindly; my granddaughter matters more to me than any of your kings or your grand cities. No, I intend to know what sort of man this Boy King is and whether I shall need to take precautions to protect our future Queen here."

_They intend to trick me,_ Sansa was certain. _They're working with the Queen to make an excuse to get rid of me._

"Joffrey is a noble king and a gallant warrior, my lady," she said, feigning adoration. "He alone should lead this kingdom as he alone has the blessing of the Seven and the gift of good grace-"

"I am sure you've learnt that little song well, dear," Olenna interrupted. "But I am more interested in the truth. I'm sure Aegon the Conqueror himself did not fit that description, and from the little I've seen of our good King Joffrey, he is no Aegon."

"He…" for a moment Sansa was torn – trust Margaery and her grandmother and she risked imprisonment, torture or maybe worse, distrust them and she could condemn her to live as Joffrey's plaything. "When I was his betrothed, he made me look at my father's head, he tried to rape me at court, his Seven would beat me regularly and his mother stood by and watched. That is what sort of man your future husband is Margaery."

Both women listened quietly as Sansa spoke, Olenna weathered face setting in cold determination whilst her granddaughter's became white as snow.

"I thank you for your honesty, Sansa dear," the Queen of Thorns nodded her head, patting Margaery's hand gently. "And don't you worry, girl. Your brother is one of his Seven and a better swordsman than the other six together. As long as I am alive and he is there you have nothing to fear. If Joffrey so much as slaps you I shall see that your father incites rebellion."

"That would be unnecessary, Grandmother," Margaery shook her head. "If I am to suffer a violent husband then so be it, but the Seven Kingdoms have bled enough."

It's amazing how a simple sentence can increase your respect for a person, but in that instant Sansa knew that her new friend would make a great queen.

"Nonsense, girl," Olenna dismissed her noble intentions but then turned to Sansa to show that there would be no further discussion of it. "Now, you."

"What about me?" Sansa asked as both of them surveyed her as if deep in thought.

"What do you know of my grandson Willas?" Olenna asked.

"He is the heir to Highgarden and the Reach," Sansa recalled all the lessons Septa Mordane had taught her on the young noblemen of Westeros. "When he was younger he was crippled in a tourney against Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne but since then has gone on to become a respected academic and a great breeder of dogs and horses."

"And hawks,"Margaery added, smiling. "You should see the hawks."

"I am sure Lady Stark shall be seeing both Willas and the hawks very soon. That is… if you would like to?" Olenna's eyes glinted at her.

"You mean I can go to Highgarden, my lady?" Sansa asked, shocked and excited.

"I am not just inviting you to Highgarden," the old woman's voice was deadly quiet. "I am proposing that you marry my grandson, and one day become the lady of the greatest of all seven kingdoms."


	2. Part One: Plots within Plots

For the first time since King Robert's death, Sansa woke up having dreamt happy dreams. Balmy summers days and a kind husband greeted her when her eyes had finally closed the night before, and she had spent a few nocturnal hours of bliss laughing in the sun. When she awoke, the events of the night before flashed before her eyes in a confused jumble of events before she could make sense of them – Olenna revealing her plot over supper in the flickering candlelight in the tent, walking back to the Red Keep through a slumbering city, lying in bed for hours as the night wore on, imagining, and finally the elusive embrace of sleep. _Did last night actually happen, or was it a hopeless dream? _Sansa wondered, praying to gods old and new that it was the former.

Foggily, the details were coming back. After revealing Olenna had told her of her intentions, Sansa had refused to believe it.

"If you truly intend to help me, why ally with the Lannisters?" she had blurted.

"Oh, darling girl," Lady Tyrell said, casually eating a grape. "It was my son's choice to court Casterly Rock - in his vain little world, being the father of the Queen is the highest honour a man can achieve. I bear no more love for Tywin Lannister or that bastard Joffrey than you do, trust me on that."

"Then… then why help me?" she had stuttered, still adamantly refusing to fall for this ploy.

"What can we say?" Margaery spoke then. "Saying that we took pity on an abused young girl is something you likely wouldn't believe after so long in the clutches of Cersei Lannister, so we'll give you our actual reason. If we marry you to Willas and you go on to become Lady of Highgarden then we could possibly broker a peace with your brother."

"Yes," Olenna went on. "Of course, we could easily crush your brother on the battlefield; don't misunderstand me, he's a brilliant general and has put Tywin Lannister in his place, but the sheer numbers would overwhelm even the greatest of generals."

"But why not 'crush him' then?" Sansa demanded. "What is stopping you?"

"Believe it or not, Lady Stark, but unlike your Northern lords and self-styled kings, we do not throw away our vassals' lives needlessly," Olenna pursed her lips. "Why let a few thousand men die fighting your brother's army when they could live and the kingdoms return to peace?"

Sansa was suddenly angry. "My brother does _not _throw away his people's lives needlessly!"

"Then why does he continue to fight, girl?" Olenna had cocked her head, waiting for an answer.

"The Lannisters started this war by invading my mother's homeland and executing my father!" she stood up and looked down on the two southern women. "My brother is exacting vengeance _as is his duty as King in the North_!"

Margaery and Olenna smiled at each other, seemingly pleased to have wound her up so much.

"You have enviable spirit, Sansa," Lady Tyrell nodded approvingly. "Which is surprising considering what I've heard of you from my friends at court."

"I was a girl then," Sansa said simply. "I am a woman now."

If possible, their smiles widened further.

"You are going to be brilliant as Lady of Highgarden, Sansa," Margaery commented. "We could be the leaders of the realm, you and I. The first women to rule the kingdoms, side by side."

"You're forgetting Joffrey," Sansa grimaced. "And who said I would accept your offer?"

"I'd have to be an idiot to think that you're happy here," Olenna said. "You shall accept. Tomorrow I shall request that you are moved to my tent before Joffrey, and from there we shall work on persuading Mace to ask for your hand for Willas. If not for Tywin, I would be afraid that those fool Lannisters would deny me, but he knows the slope of the land. Tywin may be proud but he knows that, right now, the only thing keeping his psychotic grandson's ass on that chair is me, and by extension, Mace."

And with that there was no more discussion of the matter. They finished their supper whilst chatting idly about the other women of the court as well as what Sansa could look forward to for when she arrived at Highgarden. She left Olenna's tent slightly giddy from the Arbor gold, and returned to her room in the Red Keep where she smiled herself to sleep.

Judging by the hangover that Sansa had this morning, last night was not a dream. That must mean… the end was in sight. King's Landing, the Queen, Joffrey, all of it; she'd soon be leaving it all behind.

Invigorated by this fresh breath of hope, she sprang from her bed, pulling open the windows to let the warm autumn breeze in. As it stirred her red hair gently, she looked out upon the city again. It was mid-morning, so people were already about their business – the docks writhed with sailors, the marketplaces seemed to teem with stallholders and their customers, the streets pulsed with people going from place to place, the veins of the city, pumping its dirty, diseased blood to all the limbs. It seemed a lifetime ago now, but Sansa had looked out on the same view when she had arrived here with Arya and her father. _Excitement was what I felt, _she remembered. _The first time I saw King's Landing in its entirety, I couldn't wait to get stuck into this new glamorous world. _Now she looked out on it with revulsion. She could not wait to leave.

Her handmaiden, a new one today, came in then and helped her get dressed, pulling an impressive red dress, with real rubies scattered on the bodice, from her wardrobe. No doubt she had been instructed to dress Sansa for seeing the King by Cersei, but she wasn't supposed to know that. "Why are you dressing me so extravagantly?" she feigned surprise.

"The Queen says that Lady Olenna Tyrell has requested your presence at court today," she explained. "She said you must be beautiful, and wearing Lannister crimson."

Sansa nearly laughed. Cersei wanted to show that Sansa was hers, property of the crown, but if Olenna got her way, today was the last time she would wear anything red in her life.

But she went along with it, and twenty minutes later was walking into the throne room, struggling to suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. Muttering erupted when she entered, the lords and ladies present turning round, as they always did, to ogle at the rebel's sister. For the first time ever, Sansa held her head high and met their stares. One by one they looked away, falling before her gaze. _The cattle do not scare the wolf, _she told herself. Joffrey, Tywin and Cersei waited at the far end of the hall, the king sitting rigidly on the Iron Throne whilst his mother prowled next to him, looking down on the tiny little lady and her granddaughter standing at the bottom of the steps. Tywin stood silent next to Joffrey.

"Ah, Sansa," Cersei saw her and beckoned her over. "Come here, little dove."

"Oh I hardly think that shall be necessary, Your Grace," Olenna said, speaking with more authority than she should in the presence of the three lions before her. They all bristled, but said nothing. "Sansa, come and say hello to Margaery, I hear you two are becoming fast friends."

"I hardly think that would be proper," Grand Maester Pycelle, standing with the rest of the Small Council to the side, puffed. "The future Queen consorting with the daughter of a-"

"Of course, my lady," Sansa relished the look on the old man's face as she interrupted him. "It would be a pleasure."

Margaery smiled and bade her good morning as she hurried to join the two Tyrell ladies.

The tension in the room was almost tangible as Cersei sneered down at her son's future by-laws and Olenna smiled up at her, looking as innocent as an old lady can do. Tywin spoke first.

"So, Lady Tyrell, you must have summoned us all here for something. What do you wish to ask of the crown?" he asked.

"I come here today to beg a favour from our King Joffrey," she inclined her head towards the boy respectfully, but as she spoke she seemed to shrivel into a frail old biddy. "Being an old woman, well past my years of court gossip and frivolities such as balls, I grow extremely lonely. Dear Margaery and Loras do their best to keep an old crone company, but both have duties greater than me and rightfully so. I've developed a liking for Sansa here, she reminds me of my younger days when I used to go riding with my sisters in the vineyards of the Arbor… Ah, the sun shining down and the coastal breeze in my hair… It was marvellous… But where was I?" Olenna played the part of the befuddled old woman well, Sansa noticed. _The cunning old fox. _"Ah yes, I was about to ask if Your Grace could do an old lady a great kindness by allowing me to take Lady Sansa as a handmaiden and move her to my tent in the camp"

Cersei's face distorted with a rage so strong that when she opened her mouth to speak, Sansa was surprised she didn't roar. Joffrey's face went beetroot red in anger, but Tywin simply watched. Out of the three, Sansa was more nervous of the Hand.

"Whilst we would dearly love to accommodate your wishes, Lady Tyrell," her eyes flashed in emerald fury, but her voice was carefully controlled, brittle. "Sansa Stark is not only a royal prisoner but the blood of vile traitors and murderers. I am sure that I can find another, more suitable-"

"Don't sugar coat it, mother!" Joffrey spat. "Sansa Stark is the daughter of a whore and the sister of a barbarian and _she is mine to do with as I wish!_"

Olenna opened her mouth to reply to the King's outburst, but Tywin spoke then, and when the great lion opens his mouth, no one in all Seven Kingdoms would dare to interrupt him.

"Lady Olenna," his voice was barely louder than a whisper yet it reverberated around the silent hall. "If you wish to have the Stark girl in your tent then it would be both mine and the King's pleasure to grant you your request-"

"_NO!_" Joffrey did the unspeakable then, and cut off his grandfather. A lesser man likely would have been killed, Sansa knew. "_SANSA STARK WILL STAY IN THE RED KEEP IF I HAVE TO TIE HER TO HER BED AND-"_

"The King is tired, Ser Balon," Tywin said, observing his grandson with eyes filled with revulsion. "See that he rests well in his chambers. As Hand, I shall finish this court session for him."

Joffrey howled and ordered the deaths of everyone in the room as he was manhandled from the court by Balon Swann, but it made no effect. To anyone who had any doubts, it was now clear that Tywin held the power here, no matter who wore the crown on their head.

"As I was saying," Lord Lannister sat himself on the Iron Throne and surveyed the Tyrells before him. "It is my pleasure to allow Sansa Stark to be moved to your tent as long as she stays in the camp at all times. She is to be present at court at least three times a week and if she escapes then the King shall punish any who are found to have aided her with appropriate severity."

"Thank you ever so much, my Lord Hand," Olenna smiled up at him on the throne before turning to Cersei. "Pass on my thanks to your son, Your Grace; I am sure that he is _more _than delighted that the Stark girl can finally be happy."

"As you say, Lady Tyrell," the Queen said through gritted teeth before sweeping from the room.

With their request dealt with, Olenna and Margaery began walking towards the heavy double doors, and when she realised she was free to follow them, Sansa did so. "Go and gather your possessions, dear," Olenna turned and spoke to her as the lords and ladies lingered outside the throne room. "Order them brought down to my tent and I shall make arrangements for a bed to be set up."

Sansa was leaving the city, even if only to live in a tent outside.

She couldn't stop smiling.

Motivated by her new freedom, Sansa immediately began walking up to her room. It was a pleasant day, but there was a bracing bite to the wind that spoke of the end of summer. Sansa could only vaguely remember the last winter, for she had been little more than a babe when it had ended, but they said that even as far south as Harrenhal and King's Landing, you could get snows five feet deep. _Yet another reason why going south to Highgarden is for the best._

Outside her room was someone she was not all that pleased to see. Tyrion Lannister was leaning against the door, casually eating an apple, seemingly waiting for her to return. When he saw her he bowed his head respectfully. "Lady Stark, we meet again," he stood up straight. "I am sorry to be the messenger of bad news but I have just come from the Queen's chambers. She is most displeased with Lady Tyrell's request at court this morning, as I am sure you've guessed."

"The Queen's displeasure is unfortunate but nothing to do with me," Sansa looked him squarely in the face. "Lady Tyrell requested that I be moved; I had no part in it."

"Of course," the Imp obviously didn't believe her judging by the knowing smile on his ugly face. "However I'm sure that if you asked to be allowed to stay in the city, my father would be more than happy to let you."

"And why would I do that, Lord Tyrion?"

"Well," he pretended to ponder on it for a moment. "If I were in your situation, with my mother, brother and entire family soon to be at the mercy of someone, I would do my best to make that person happy. Don't you see the sense in that?"

"Knowing your nephew, _Lannister_," Sansa said disdainfully. "Do you think anything I can do would stop him from putting my family through as much pain as humanly possible? Do you think he would ever let my mother or my brothers live after they put him in his place?"

"Oh, Lady Stark," Tyrion laughed bitterly. "If I were you I would be more worried if he allowed them to live."

Leaving her shaking with a bitter mixture of desperation, anger and grief, Tyrion Lannister waddled away.

A few hours later, Sansa was in Olenna's tent, unpacking her small case of clothes and possessions. She had brought with her all that she had left of her old life; a book of fairy tales, gifted to her on her eleventh name day by Septa Mordane; a beaten bronze mirror, an ancient treasure of House Whent, her mother's mother's family, which her mother had gave her when she left Winterfell; a tattered doll, her father's last peace offering to her. Over the last year she had read the book so many times that it was nearly falling to pieces, she'd polished the mirror so much that her reflection was as clear as day and she had slept each night with the doll held tightly in her arms, so that she could almost smell Eddard Stark again. Apart from that, she had a few dresses and gowns brought down, but she had purposefully left anything with red or gold on it in her old chambers.

When she arrived in the tent, the Queen of Thorns was in the city, apparently meeting with Lord Paxter, so she packed her things away neatly under her bed and, being alone, decided to have a look around. At first she simply peered at Olenna's various belongings, but as she explored more she became more curious. There was a small chest under her bed which was quite heavy for its size. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure that the old lady was not on her way back, she pulled the lid of the chest open. Inside were pages and pages of parchment, covered with scrawling handwriting. She picked up the first letter and read it.

_Lady Tyrell,_

_I am most upset to have heard that your son has allied with Casterly Rock, having been assured by your good self that Highgarden would do its best to protect my family's interests against the tyranny of this Boy King. Our lands have been dealt a mortal blow by the treachery of people we once thought were allies and we were relying upon your aid to strike at our enemies where they would feel it most. Long have I considered you a friend to us, and it pains me to be on opposing sides in this dreadful conflict. For a while now I have assured my king of Highgarden's support against the Iron Throne and he now finds himself in a tricky situation. Considering that your last king and your granddaughter's husband were dead set against Joffrey's claim then I was hoping that you might remain loyal to at least his memory and seek to insert the rightful king on the throne, Stannis. I hope that you will do your best to defend us in any way you can from Joffrey but I understand that sometimes our family make the choices and we must merely follow and do our best by them._

_An old friend._

Sansa could scarcely believe what she was reading. This person writing the letter was not a supporter of Joffrey and the fact that Olenna was sharing secret correspondence with them almost implied that the old lady was doing plotting of her own. Who was the letter from? Whose side did he fight for? Her brother? Another faction yet to enter the fray? She wished she knew the answers, because then things might become clearer. Underneath the first letter was another, but at that precise moment she heard familiar voices outside the tent.

"So, Paxter," Olenna was saying. "If it comes to a vote on the matter, I can count on your support?"

Panicking, Sansa shoved the letter back into the small chest…

"Of course, auntie," Paxter Redwyne said. "I shall do my best to help you sway Mace too, he will likely be reluctant."

Carefully, she eased the lid shut so as not to make a noise…

"Oh, I'll handle him fine; no one else can persuadeMace like me."

She pushed the best back under Olenna's bed, pulling the blanket down to cover it up again.

"All too true," Redwyne laughed. "We shall speak later, my lady."

"Goodbye, Paxter."

Just as Sansa sat down on Olenna's bed, trying to look inconspicuous, the tent flap opened and in walked the little old lady.

"Good afternoon, my lady," Sansa stood and curtsied.

Olenna rolled her eyes with exasperation. "There is no need for your curtsies, girl."

"Yes, my lady." Sansa smiled.

"Less of the "my lady"s too," she sighed and sat down on a chair, looking exhausted. "Never let yourself get old and frail, Sansa, dear. It is most depressing."

Sansa suddenly felt guilty for nosing into her possessions without her knowledge. Olenna had been very good to her, moving her from the capital and providing a place to stay as well as the hope that she had been lacking. It was obviously taking a toll on the poor woman too; the politicking seemed to be wearing her thin.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Sansa asked softly. "A drink? Some food, perhaps?"

"Get me some Arbor gold," Olenna smiled. "Nothing seems to wake me like a good taste of home these days."

She found a bottle in a chest next to the tub and opened it. She poured a glass for both of them and they sat there and drank silently for a few minutes. "We have been invited to a ball in the city tomorrow night by Lord Tarly's wife," Olenna broke the silence. "We're both expected to attend I'm afraid, but it shouldn't be too bad. Although you might not enjoy it, Margaery shall be there."

"Oh, that sounds quite fun," Sansa said. "Why wouldn't I enjoy it?"

"The Queen is attending."

_Oh._


	3. Part One: Letters

That night Sansa came the closest she had ever done to trying to escape. She and Olenna had spent the evening together; all the other hens that clucked around the Queen of Thorns were dismissed back to their cocks. Conversation soon turned to the place Sansa had most dreaded it would – politics, the war, her family. Sansa was facing away from Olenna, brushing her hair into the Whent mirror, when the old lady first breached the subject, which was lucky as she nearly sobbed at her words.

"You must miss your mother terribly," she had said.

It wasn't a question, merely a statement.

"Yes," Sansa murmured after a second. "I hope that it will not be long 'til I am reunited with her."

"How long has it been since you've seen her, Sansa?" Olenna put her withered hand on her shoulder, nearly making her jump.

_She can move quietly when she wants to, _she observed.

"I don't even know for sure, Lady Olenna," Sansa answered, blinking away the tears that had welled in her eyes. "When my father took us from Winterfell to become Hand. How long ago was that now? A year?"

"Just over," Olenna answered, sitting down next to her stiffly. "That is a beautiful mirror. From your mother, yes?"

For a moment, she was speechless. _How could she know? _

"I've seen many such things in the old castles of the Riverlands," she explained. "Never anywhere else. So I assumed it would be an heirloom from your mother's side."

"It comes from the last River Kings," Sansa said, repeating what her mother had told her when she had been old enough to understand. "When Harren the Black invaded, King Lestor of Seagard gave this to his chief of guards, Valen Whent, as well as the charge of his young daughter. The two escaped, the man and this child of noble blood, and made their way to Riverrun. Their current lord had already surrendered to Harren, but they were kind and accepted the refugees into their lands. Over decades, Valen became great friends with the Lord of Riverrun, and when they betrayed Harren for Aegon the Conqueror, Valen was granted the Lordship of Harrenhal. Oddly, he never took a wife and died childless ten years later. He left it to the daughter and she continued to pass the treasure down, generation to generation until it reached my mother and me."

Olenna thought about the story for a minute, and then said with a smirk, "I think your Valen Whent might get along quite well with my grandson Loras."

"Why?" Sansa was confused.

Olenna laughed then, more heartily than she had done since she had met her. "There's a reason that Loras chooses the Kingsguard, Sansa," she smirked. "My grandson prefers the _company _of men."

Sansa's eyes widened in shock. She had heard of such men in the North, but they were often mocked by her father's men and she had always been confused by the notion that two men or two women might find each other desirable.

"Of course, there's nothing wrong with it. Men have been putting their spears up each other's bottoms since the first First Men and I'm sure they will continue well into the future."

Sansa was silent for a moment, unsure quite what to say.

"I'm sorry for being blunt, Sansa," she said eventually, rolling her eyes. "I've never been fond of prissy-footing around the subject and I've not developed tolerance for it as I've aged. You may or may not have realised yet, but at Highgarden, power lies with one person and one person only. Me, Sansa. If Mace ordered his guards to execute me, they would orchestrate a coup and depose him. I've gotten this amount of power not because I preen and sing like the other ladies, but because I say what I mean and I mean what I say."

Listening to her speak, Sansa sat up straight, absorbing every word. For too long she had been one of those "other ladies", singing and acting as expected. _Where has that gotten me? _She thought bitterly. _Imprisoned in a city full of poison. _

"I have my power because my husband was a useless fool, Sansa," Olenna went on. "When I was just fifteen my father married me off to young Luthor Tyrell and it was then that I knew – nine of every ten men are brain-dead. They think with their cocks and fight with spears, when it's far more effective to use your mind for both. Luthor's father died within five years and we discovered that Highgarden was left over a million in debt. Even the riches of the Reach could not fuel fat Lord Tyrell's appetite for parties and whores and tourneys; he made Robert Baratheon look like Baelor the Blessed. We had debt collectors arriving outside our gates from as far away as the Iron Bank of Braavos and even a few from some rich man in Qarth. Every day their threats grew harsher and every day Luthor spent more and more time _hawking. _I knew I had to act.

"And so, I did. I called my father and Lord Tarly to Highgarden, two of the only men I have ever had any faith in, and asked them to take over administration whilst I got a boat from Oldtown to Braavos and then to Qarth to sort the mess out. I told them clearly: "You will recall your debt collectors and give us more time, and you will get your money back eventually. If you don't, you shall never see a Stag from us." Oh, how it shocked them – before them was Lady Tyrell, a woman of barely five feet, issuing an ultimatum to the wealthiest men in the world. But they gave in, and I returned to Westeros victorious. On the way back to Highgarden I did a little tour of the Reach, and every castle feasted me more extravagantly than they had ever done my husband. Although, thinking of it, they probably regretted that when I returned to Highgarden and raised their taxes by twenty percent." Olenna smiled deviously. "It was necessary, of course, I needed to pay our debts. But the smallfolk detested me, and gave me the nickname 'The Queen of Thorns'. I like to think of it as a compliment really, even though it wasn't meant as so."

They sat for a moment in silence, Olenna's eyes glazed over in reverie whilst Sansa watched her, waiting with bated breath for her to carry on. When she didn't, Sansa cleared her throat to get the old woman's attention.

"What is Willas like?" she asked; she had been dying to know all night.

Olenna stroked her chin in thought before she spoke. "With most people, I decide what I think of them within a minute of meeting them. For instance, Margaery is a sweet girl, who desires nothing more than to have a good, rich life. Loras on the other hand, is more ambitious – the Rainbow Guard, then the Kingsguard, he's always became easy friends with those in a position of power. But Willas is not like his siblings; whereas Loras is an apple and Margaery a cherry, Willas is an onion. He has layers which he only shows to people that he trusts a great deal. On the outside, he appears a solid, loyal man of Highgarden, a good son, a good lord, a good man. But I think he has depths below that, I think he is more than capable of taking my position of power when I pop my clogs. He's ruthless, but slow, and patient."

She digested what Olenna had said for a moment and decided that she liked the sound of her future husband. He was no fool, and a potential ally to her. _Did I really just think that? _Sansa thought incredulously. _Ally? Anyone would think I'm going to go to war… Am I?_

"Go and get some water from the pump, Sansa," Olenna broke the silence. "I have a thirst."

"Yes, my lady," she nodded and pulled on a cloak before going outside, leaving Olenna scowling at her manners.

The camp was near deserted. Being in the shadow of King's Landing, there wasn't much need for excessive guard duties, so only in the distance, on the edges of the camp, did torchlight from vigilant guards twinkle. Everywhere else was bathed in milky bright moonlight, casting half of the camp into black shadow._ It would be so easy to sneak past those guards and steal a horse, _Sansa realised. _When I'm past them I need only travel to Riverrun and I could see my mother again. _Despite that, something inside told her that now was not the time so she hurried to the water pump and scurried back laden with two full pails of water.

When she got back to the tent, Sansa's stomach lurched as she saw what Olenna was doing. The chest filled with letters was on her lap and she was browsing through its contents. The old lady looked up when Sansa placed the pail in front of her. "Thank you, girl," she said, dipping her cup into the cold water and taking a sip of it. "But I think it is well past time that we slept; the Tarly woman's party starts tomorrow afternoon and we must both be fresh enough for it."

Sansa nodded and, getting into bed, observed Olenna shutting the chest and placing it at the foot of her bed. "Goodnight, Sansa," Olenna slowly pulled back her covers and eased into bed.

"You too, Olenna," she replied quietly, and blew out the candles.

Olenna laughed, and then silence fell upon them.

An hour later Sansa still hadn't fell asleep, but judging by the slow rhythm of Lady Tyrell's breathing, the old woman had. Sansa had been thinking in that hour, and she somehow couldn't help but feel that if she didn't try to escape now she would regret it for the rest of her life. _What if something happens to mother or Robb and I never see them again? _She asked herself. _I'd never forgive myself, that's what. _The ideas of Highgarden and Willas were lovely enough, for sure, but hadn't she once been entranced by Joffrey and thrilled at the prospect of King's Landing? Hadn't Cersei and Myrcella and all the other people at court been lovely to her at first? No, she needed to stick with what she knew – she was a Stark of Winterfell and her place was with her family,not some flowery castle in the south. Deep down, she knew this was what she had to do. And so, making sure that she was quiet, Sansa got out of her bed and pulled on a cloak. She made her way over to the tent flap stealthily and peered back into the tent. Olenna was still asleep, and the furniture hid in the gloom, only visible as darker shades of grey in the blackness of the early hours. _What's that? _Sansa saw something near the foot of Olenna's bed and was confused for a second, before she remembered. _The letters! _Agonisingly, Sansa knew that this was her last chance to look through them, and that made her creep back into the tent slowly and pick up the heavy chest. Amazed by how much paper could weigh, she carried it so that it was in the chink of moonlight coming through the tent flaps and opened the lid. She picked a letter at random and read it.

_My old friend,_

_ The rumours are true, but they are small and without armies the enemy can do nothing. Many on the council want to take them but I have tried to persuade them to kill them. It probably won't work. Our enemy may well overcome our efforts to keep them, and if so, you may soon find yourself under attack. Unite the kingdoms against this new threat, I beg you. The ends justify any means now, for we are fighting for the greater good._

_Your Friend Over The Sea._

If possible, she understood less of this letter than she had of the last. Over the Sea meant that Olenna's friend wasn't from Westeros and Sansa had never been properly educated on Essos or Sothoryos. If she knew which Free Cities were ran by councils she could maybe guess where they were from. And they had spoken about uniting the kingdoms as if they were about to face attack from someone. Who? Or, more worryingly, what? A few months ago she had been in court when a Nights Watchman had arrived and begged the Queen to send men to the Wall to defend it against "what lives on the other side". Cersei had laughed in his face. Could that be it? Could Olenna be working with the Nights Watch? Sansa was frustrated that reading another letter hadn't answered any questions but instead posed more, so she rifled through them again and picked another one.

_Our "Friend in the Capital",_

_ I put your offer before His Grace and he has flatly refused to work with you if you must insist on allowing the Starks sovereignty over the North. King Stannis is heir to the Iron Throne, which is a symbol of dominion over all Westeros – why should he give away half his kingdom because his vassals are disloyal? Whilst I think that your offer has been generous, we must decline it today, unless you would help us to assert southern power over Winterfell. You may rest assured that your offer will remain confidential._

_The Hand of the Rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms,_

_Lord Alester Florent._

_She's been plotting with Stannis' Hand?! _Sansa's head was spinning with the implications. What could this mean? Did the other Tyrells know of this, or was Olenna acting alone? She knew nothing of Stannis – could she be doing this because he would be a better king? Or would she somehow personally profit from Stannis being on the throne? And then there was the fact that Olenna seemed to support "allowing the Starks sovereignty over the North." Why? Why could the Starks staying in Winterfell be so important to the old woman?

_More questions!_

"I'm not sure whether to be disappointed or impressed, Sansa." Olenna's voice was sharp and clear in the silence.


	4. Part One: The Lady of the Arbor

**Author's Note: I'm sorry for the shortness of this chapter, and how long it took to write, but I've been very busy with my personal life. Thanks for anyone who continues to read this, and as ever, reviews are appreciated!**

Complete and utter silence. Olenna stared. Sansa breathed. Between them lay the chest of letters, its gaping lid proclaiming her guilt.

"Hmm?" the little woman stepped into the moonlight so that Sansa could see her face properly. She had a stern set to her face, yet her lips betrayed amusement. "Have you no songs to sing, girl?"

Sansa tried to speak but her throat was dry and all that escaped her mouth was a strangulated noise. _I've ruined everything._

"You don't feel like singing I see," Olenna said, glancing down at the chest. "Shall we start off with what you know, or think you might know?"

"I…" Sansa began. "Why are you plotting with Stannis' Hand?"

"I can't tell you that for obvious reasons, Sansa," the woman laughed. "The letters in that chest have a lot of confidential information in them, information that will save these Seven Kingdoms from the brink of destruction. And one day soon, you will know all of it. But not now, not today. Is that understood, Sansa?"

"You mean," Sansa could barely believe it. "You mean, you're not going to send me back to Joffrey?"

"Dear Gods, no," Olenna snorted. "You're much too valuable to us for me to do that. And I suppose you're a little likable too," seeing Sansa's relieved smile, her face hardened again. "But these letters are to be left undisturbed. If I find you have looked through them again, I will make Cersei Lannister look like a hospitable and loving host."

"I… I understand," Sansa bowed her head in deference to the old lady. "Thank you for your kindness; I am forever in your family's debt."

Olenna pursed her lips. "Soon you shall be my family, if my plan goes well. We shall be kin, bound by the Seven and all the laws of our realm."

Sansa nodded, unsure what to say.

"But anyway," Olenna bent down laboriously to pick up the box of letters. "We still must socialise tomorrow, and I like to have my wits about me; some of these clucking hens think to challenge my position on occasion, because they think me weak and frail. I destroy them every time, but they never learn. Go back to bed, girl, I shall join you once I have dealt with this."

She began shuffling through the letters in the box, seemingly sorting them into two groups; but Sansa wasn't only tired, she was relieved and grateful. So she nodded and got into bed and, not looking at what Olenna was doing, promptly closed her eyes and drifted into sleep.

Clear and mild, the next day dawned. Sansa woke past midday and found the tent empty; Olenna must have had private business elsewhere, else she would have woken her. She had to admit that, as she was rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she seriously considered looking under the old woman's bed again, to read a few letters. But then, sense prevailed. _If I look through those letters, she will find out and send me back into the lions' den._

Having decided that she wasn't going to stay in the tent for Olenna to return, Sansa decided that she had best go outside and explore the camp. After all, she was one day going to be the Lady of Highgarden, and they would all owe her fealty. _"Best to know your vassals," Ned Stark had always told his children. "Never ask a man to lay down his life for someone he doesn't know."_ She perused her small collection of clothes in her trunk, deciding which one she would wear today; it was small because the moment that Tywin had given her leave to move to the Tyrell camp she had ordered all of the dresses gifted to her by Cersei or Joffrey burnt or thrown away. What she was left with was a ragtag bunch of dresses that barely fitted her anymore and were many months out of fashion. In the end, she decided on a simple Tully blue dress which was just tight enough to emphasise her feminine curves without making her seem wanton. _It should do, for now._

As the breeze cut through its cotton folds, stabbing at her goose pimpled flesh, she knew that she needed to visit the seamstress. But not now - Lord Redwyne's tent was just ten paces away, and he seemed a good place to start. _Be like mother, _Sansa raised her head to show confidence. _You are a daughter of Winterfell. _"Lord Redwyne?" she called, tentatively pushing the flap of his tent open. But she wasn't answered by Lord Redwyne.

Instead a woman's voice called, "Enter!"

Sansa did as she was bid and found that, upon entering, she had been called in by a curvaceous woman with long, wavy blonde hair. "Did you want something, Lady Sansa?" she smiled.

"Yes, if I may, my lady," she bowed her head respectfully. "But I regret to say that I do not know who you are."

The lady laughed, tossing her head back and cackling mischievously. "I must say it has been a while since someone has had to ask," she said eventually. "I am Irelia, the Lady of the Arbor, Sansa. I've been looking forward to meeting you much indeed. Would you take some wine?" she gestured to a jug which was on the desk in front of her.

"I would love to, Lady Irelia," Sansa nodded and graciously accepted a goblet which was brimming with, would you believe it, Arbor gold. "I've come to you because I think I should get to know the ladies of the Tyrell court – I'm far too familiar with those from King's Landing, I wondered if perhaps the south might offer richer company. So far Lady Olenna and Margaery have proved me correct."

"Please, sit," her host said. Sansa sat down on a stool, but Irelia simply perched her rear on the desk. "You have come to the right place if you wish to familiarise yourself with the flock of Highgarden, Sansa. But there is one fundamental difference of the Reach which you must understand if you are to know the ladies here truly. Have you guessed what it is yet?"

"Olenna is in charge," Sansa said without hesitation; the Lady of the Arbor's eyes sparkled with approval and her lips curved into a smile. "She controls Mace, and by extension, his lands. She considers men beneath her. Would I be right in guessing that she likes to keep her fellow women privy to the business of the men?"

"Oh, more than privy, Lady Stark," Irelia smirked. "Women are in charge of the Reach. Excusing some chauvinistic pigs like Randyll Tarly, of course. But very observant anyway."

"That is much more encouraging than the North," Sansa admitted, barely thinking what she was saying. "I had accepted my future lot as a wife, mother and administrator of my husband's household."

"You know, my lady," Irelia cocked her head. "You should watch your tongue when speaking to people you don't know. Luckily, I know about Olenna and Margaery's plot to marry you off to Willas, but if I didn't I would certainly suspect something by now."

"What?" Sansa's voice was suddenly strained and she felt her face burning in crimson embarrassment. "I… You know… How?"

"I am one of Lady Olenna's "inner circle", as it were," she explained, draining her cup almost lazily. "I, along with a few other ladies of the court, am privy to most of her plans. There are a few which for now she refuses to tell us, but we have the utmost faith in her – she's gotten us through crippling debt, a civil war and the Dornish Incursion of 271AL. Olenna is a capable woman. More than capable."

"Well then," Sansa gathered her thoughts quickly. "If I am one day to be the Lady of Highgarden, I would know my vassals. Can you help me with this, Lady Redwyne?"

"I am afraid, dear Lady," Irelia stroked her chin slowly. "That Olenna has already trained Lady Margaery to take over in her stead as "Queen" of the Reach, if you will. I fear that the idea of another woman having power over the place might… displease her."

"Queen Margaery will have power over all of the Seven Kingdoms when she weds Joffrey. I hardly doubt she will take offense at me wanting to know my future vassals," Sansa raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Besides, we're becoming fast friends."

"I suppose," Redwyne nodded hesitantly. "I suppose there's no harm in introducing you to the flock. Do not be mistaken though; many will not treat you kindly, and some may be openly hostile. You're a new girl, beautiful and from blood more noble than most, even in the highborn courts. Women are creatures of jealousy, and you should get used to it."

"I understand," she said solemnly. "I oft suspect that Cersei is jealous of me, the way she has treated me."

The Lady of the Arbor cackled her wicked laugh. "The lioness jealous of the wolf pup," she smirked. "She also detests Margaery, did you know that? This Queen Regent sees threats where she has allies and is envious of her prisoners; when she falls, she will fall hard."

Sansa was going to ask what she meant before she realised that she already knew - the Tyrells were indeed plotting against the crown.

"But yes," Irelia continued. "You want to know the ladies of the Reach. Find me at Tarly's ball tonight and I'll introduce you to many of them, does that sound good?"

"I…" Sansa nodded eagerly. "That sounds excellent, my lady, I am most grateful."

"Perfect," she smiled. "Go back to Lady Olenna's tent, Lady Stark, and I'll meet you at the ball later."

"Yes, my lady, I look forward to it," she drained her cup, curtsied and left.

Upon her return to the tent, Sansa was accosted by several handmaidens who fussed over her incessantly; Olenna had taken the liberty of purchasing some new dresses for her this morning with Margaery, and she was required to try them all on to see which she wanted to wear for the ball. Unsurprisingly, most of the new purchases were Tyrell greens and golds and in the southern style that showed much more flesh than she was used to, but Sansa soon got used to them. In fact, they were quite comfortable, and did make her feel distinctly feminine. She was surprised and touched to see that Margaery had gone to the trouble to have a dress made for her – a wispy thing, the colour of overburdened rainclouds, with a bodice scattered with pure white pearls. It came with a cloak which was made of grey wolf fur and had a snarling direwolf stitched into the back. When she was given it she caressed it, amazed at the softness of the thing; was Lady's fur that soft after she was murdered? Somehow, she didn't think so.

In the end she chose Margaery's gift to wear. If Cersei was going to be present she was going to do all she could to flaunt her new freedom and what better way than wearing a dress that screamed Stark?

"A bold choice," Olenna observed wryly, when she saw what she was wearing. "You do realise that Cersei is going to attempt to have you murdered one of these days?"

"She can try," Sansa's said calmly. "I'm sure my brother is a testament to the fact that Starks are not so easy to kill."

"And your father is the exact opposite," the Queen of Thorns pursed her lips. "If you become arrogant, you become complacent, and when you're complacent you are easier to kill. Remember that, girl."

Humbled, she nodded. _The old woman's right,_ Sansa knew. _Don't make the same mistake Cersei herself is making – when she thinks she is safe, I will destroy her. _

"But we must leave now," Olenna said. "Margaery said she would be at the ball by sunset and it's well past that. You may have to support me as we walk up to the city, Sansa, these old bones are not made for much walking."

Sansa smirked; it was Olenna's favourite ploy to play the frail old lady when around other people. For sure, she was not the most agile of women, but she was nowhere near as bad as she made out.

The walk up to the city was a quiet one, the camp was calm and the night was likewise. As if expecting them, the guardhouse gate swung open when they reached it and they were allowed through by a burly guard who tripped over his feet to ensure that Olenna was happy; she treated him like something unsavoury that she had trodden in. On the other side of the walls, King's Landing was snoozing in the golden lantern light, its slumber here and there disturbed by noble ladies heading up the road, surrounded by retainers and hangers-on – it seemed all the wealthy wives of the city were attending tonight.

Lady Tarly's city house was remarkably unremarkable. Nestled between an armourer and an inn, the place seemed small, almost too small for a family of their power, but Sansa had to admit there was a nice simplicity to it. After spending so long in the Red Keep, she had forgotten the reassuring nature of simple, practical buildings that she had grown so accustomed to at Winterfell. The house was only two stories high, but light poured out of all of its windows and doors and the chatter and laughter spilt out too, yet outside the luminescence and noise seemed to cast the rest of the street into shadow and silence. Shivering, she drew her cloak around her. _Winter is coming, as they say._

"Now, Sansa," Olenna turned to her and was about to say something when a tall figure ran from the shadows on the other side of the street and bowled the Queen of Thorns over. Almost immediately, Sansa heard the _whoosh_ of an arrow, which flew past her and landed exactly where Lady Olenna Tyrell had been standing just a moment before.


	5. Part One: Queens and Councils

Attempted assassinations are events that are quite difficult to forget, but the moments following Olenna Tyrell's were a blur when Sansa tried to remember them in future. As if in shock, the street was silent for a split second – Sansa stood there, transfixed to the spot; Olenna was on the ground, winded under the weight of the man who had pushed her out of the way. His identity was still a mystery, for a hood covered his face in shadow.

And then Sansa screamed.

It was loud, and girlish, and immediately the hubbub inside Lady Tarly's house hushed.

Realising she could still be in danger, she spun around and looked desperately up at the rooftops from where the assassin must have shot the arrow. Sansa never knew for certain but it seemed to her, that up there, against the black velvet night, a grey figure looked down at her. Whoever they were, they made the hairs on her arms stand on end. But as soon as they realised Sansa had seen them the figure pulled back from the edge and vanished. Shaking, she turned back to where Olenna lay; the man had gotten up now, but the Queen of Thorns was still gasping on the floor.

"What has happened?!" she knew it was Cersei without having to turn around - no one else's voice could so maliciously destroy a silence. The Queen Regent surveyed the scene, Olenna on the ground straining to breathe, the hooded man crouched above her, Sansa standing a few feet away. Her mouth gaped in over-the-top horror, but the bitch's eyes blazed with triumph. _She did this, _Sansa realised. "Is Lady Tyrell hurt?!"

"I…" Olenna sat up and coughed violently. "I am fine, Your Grace, although I fear someone may have tried to assassinate me."

She watched Cersei closely as she realised that the old lady was fine; her face momentarily betrayed dismay and anger, but it was soon covered with a mask of bitter neutrality.

"Get up then, my lady," Cersei said, looking down on Olenna. "You don't want anyone to try anything else, do you?"

"Unless someone gives me a hand I shall be laying here all night," When Cersei made no move to help her, Olenna beckoned Sansa over. "Sansa, dear, help an old lady to stand up."

Sansa hurried to her side as Cersei swept back inside the house disdainfully ("It was nothing, just a lowborn brawl," she declared to the partiers), but the hooded man had already gripped Olenna's arm firmly and pulled her up. Tyrell looked him up and down.

"My lord, I did not expect you this far north of Highgarden," her brow furrowed. "Come, remove your hood, we are all friends here."

When the hooded man pulled down his hood, Sansa examined his face and felt a sudden urge to smile. Even months and years in the future she didn't know why; he was fairly good looking, yes, but nothing to rival Loras Tyrell or even her brother, Robb. A tangled mess of red hair half covered two deep-set brown eyes which were slightly bloodshot; he had a strong, masculine jaw and a mouth that seemed to be constantly smirking. Laughter lines caressed his cheeks, but from his posture he seemed to be exhausted. If she had to guess, she'd place him at about twenty-five years.

"Lady Tyrell," he bowed his head before turning his eyes to Sansa. "And I don't believe I have had the pleasure to meet this beautiful young woman?"

"My name is Sansa," she curtsied respectfully. "Sansa Stark, my lord."

"I am Toras Whitefort, my lady," he took Sansa's hand in a callused yet gentle hand and placed a warm kiss on it. "I have a string of other titles but all you need to know is that I advise Lord Tyrell and then in nine cases out of ten am completely ignored."

"It is a burden we all must bear, dear boy," Olenna sniffed. "It truly is my fault for giving life to such a wilful baboon. But forget him; we have a ball to attend, if I am not mistaken."

"My lady!" Sansa protested, shocked. "Someone has just tried to kill you, and you're still going to go to a bannerman's wife's ball?"

"Sansa, when you've been at the top for as long as I have," the old woman stood slightly taller as she spoke. "You know that the only way to keep your position is to show strength. Show the enemy that even their best laid plans cannot disrupt your course of action. We will attend this ball, and act like nothing has happened. When we return to the camp later we will discuss this. Do you understand, girl?"

"Unless I am _very _much mistaken," she leaned in close to Tyrell. "The woman who hired that assassin is in the immediate vicinity. Do you understand _me_, my lady?"

"Silence," Olenna hissed. "You never know where your enemy has ears; we will discuss this later."

Reluctantly, she nodded – Olenna seemed intent on going to this ball.

"Right, Toras," she turned to the red headed man, her brow creased. "You must have important news to have travelled so far. Is it about her?" Whitefort inclined his head slightly. "I see. Return to the camp, find Paxter. Tell him what has happened here tonight and who has done it but make sure he doesn't tell anyone else. When he knows, return to my tent and take five of Paxter's men to guard you; wait there until I return to you."

"Yes, my lady," he nodded respectfully at the old lady, tossed a weary smile at Sansa and made off towards the city gates, hood once again up.

_Five guards? What sort of danger could warrant five guards in the middle of a friendly army?_

But she had no further time to think, for Olenna tugged her arm insistently towards Tarly's city house.

"We must find Margaery immediately and warn her, I will go left, you go right," the old woman instructed her calmly. "Tell her that her mother's roses have become diseased, she'll understand what you mean. And by the Seven, do _not _accept a drink from anyone."

"I –" Sansa sputtered as she veritably dragged her into the warmth and light of the house. The entrance hall was again quite small and dimly lit, with a door leading into other rooms on either side. Through them you could hear a low chatter.

"Do it!" Olenna snapped, before hobbling off at a surprising speed to the left.

For a moment she contemplated hurrying after her, but she really did have no choice; neglect to follow her orders and Margaery could be put in danger, even killed. Even if she wasn't becoming friends with her, the pure fact that someone like her was Queen was a comforting fact – she was certainly preferable to Cersei. Jaw set in determination, she reached out her hand and pushed the door on the right open before walking in, head held high.

Audible stirs when she entered a room was something that Sansa had grown accustomed to, but the fuss her entrance caused that night remained in her memory for years to follow; the first lady to catch sight of her in her defiant grey cloak and dress literally gasped. In the North, such things as dressing to offend people were considered petty and childish, but in the south wars had been started for less. The ripple of shock that followed was almost tangible. People turned around and their mouths opened in outrage, a few muttered angrily, Lady Lolys started babbling in confusion, soon to be silenced by her mother. Keeping her face like stone, she began to navigate her way through the ladies and their hangers-on, ignoring their stares, searching for Margaery.

"Sansa!" she was stopped by a hand on her shoulder – Lady Irelia. Redwyne's wife looked _strong_. There was no other way to describe it; hair up, crimson lipstick contrasting against her honey skin, and her heavy lidded eyes smoky. She wore a thing Sansa recognised from the history books about Old Valyria. A _togon _they had called it, a simple strip of white cotton folded around the body's curves delicately, and clasped with a brooch on her shoulder. It revealed a sinful amount of flesh. "What do you think of my _togon_? It's the latest fashion in Pentos, I thought I'd see if I could introduce it here."

"It looks beautiful," Sansa admitted. "But many of the pious ladies here seem to disapprove."

"Thank you, my girl," Irelia grinned at her. "I do like to cause a stir. But I promised to give you the guided tour of the chicken coop, did I not? Is now a good time?"

"Ah," Sansa couldn't – completing her instructions from Olenna was more important. "I'm afraid it might have to wait for now. You haven't seen Margaery by any chance?"

"I can't help you there," Irelia spread her hands. "I haven't seen her all night."

"Thank you anyway," Sansa curtseyed and pushed through the crowds away from the Lady of the Arbor, leaving her talking to some merchant's wife from Oldtown.

It was a few minutes until Sansa had deduced that she wasn't here, and she was about to pass into another room when everything froze. Every woman's head snapped towards the staircase leading to the first floor, and to Sansa's mixed thrill and dread she knew exactly why.

The lioness was on the prowl.

Cersei Lannister was halfway down the stairs when the ladies seemed to stand to attention and moved aside to reveal Sansa, now directly in the Queen Dowager's vision. Swaying slightly and obviously in her cups, she sneered at her in her soft fur cloak. Her unstable steps were thunderous in the silence as she descended the stairs slowly.

"Your father had the same expression on his face just before I butchered his guard and arrested him, little dove," she laughed bitterly, her voice cutting like daggers. "I would have thought a smart girl like you would have learnt a lesson from him… Oh," she stroked her chin mockingly. "But wasn't it you who betrayed him to me? I wouldn't say that was very clever, little dove, I'd say that you're a stupid little wolf _bitch_."

It took all of her self-restraint not to claw Cersei's eyes out there and then.

"I must admit that I love your cloak, Sansa," the Queen tottered closer, so close in fact that she could smell the alcohol on her breath. "Direwolf, is it? I'm a little annoyed, I had planned to start a trend for direwolf fur myself, but it was just the matter of obtaining it… You see, there's only one live direwolf to our knowledge south of the Wall. I had hoped for your little mutt to become a nice rug in my quarters, but the honourable Ned Stark-"

"Your brother baited a wolf pup once," a thankfully familiar voice observed behind her; Olenna was standing in the doorway to the room, with Margaery by her side. "And look at what happened to him."

Cersei looked like she had been slapped. Around the room, the ladies exchanged glances, evidently shocked.

"And your son sided against my father once," Cersei spat, face reddening in anger. "What did he do? Besiege Storm's End for the entirety of a war? Defeated by an onion smuggler? Whilst _my father _ransacked your king's city!"

"Well then," Olenna said calmly. "It is a good thing I am not my son, and you are not your father."

"Grandmother…" Margaery tried to pull Tyrell away from the argument, but the old lady shook her hand off like an irritating fly.

"You should listen to her," Cersei said, slightly slurring her words. "You Tyrells, you think you're so –_ hic_ – wonderful. But really, you're just up-jumped stewards… Only lords because your liege lord died fighting the _– hic – _Targaryens!"

Olenna looked at her from across the room, the Lannister Queen with her alcohol and her slurs and her bitterness, and she said something that sent shivers through Sansa.

"We're the up-jumped stewards who are keeping you alive; if not for our support you would have all Seven Kingdoms attacking your walls, just for the chance to kill you."

The spite and threat in the old lady's words hung in the air for several seconds, before she spoke again.

"Come, Sansa. We are done here."

And with that, she left the room, Margaery on her arm and Sansa hurrying to catch them up. Sansa didn't dare look back at Cersei.

…

"Do you really think that threatening the Queen in front of witnesses was wise, grandmother?" Margaery fired an indignant glare at Olenna as they entered the Tyrell camp.

Walking through a silent city, which was likely full of silent watchers, the three had been silent until they saw the haven of the firelight of the camp.

"In most circumstances, no, it wouldn't be," her grandmother admitted. "But the psychotic little brat needed putting in her place; does she really not realise her stupidity?"

"I just don't see why there constantly has to be a need for fighting," Margaery seemed to sag under her words. "Why must we continue to kill each other, when winter approaches?"

"We'll have to call a council immediately," Olenna didn't even acknowledge Margaery's question. "Rouse your father, find the Eye of Oldtown, and then bring Lord Paxter and your brothers, if you'd be so kind, dear."

"Yes, grandmother," she said sullenly before walking off.

Sansa followed Lady Tyrell as she pushed open the flaps to her tent. Inside, Lord Whitefort was sitting on a chair in the middle of the tent, with five guards surrounding him, all of whom silently dozing on the job. Whitefort had, to Sansa's sudden shock and interest, Olenna's chest of letters on his lap, and he was perusing one of them when they entered.

"You may leave, men," Olenna's voice woke them up. "And if I find you sleeping on the job again, I'll have you all sent back to night duty."

Toras looked up, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched the little lady torment the burly men.

"Your news?" she asked, soon wiping any trace of mirth from his lips.

"Is Lady Sansa trusted with this, Olenna?" the man hesitated whilst Olenna looked at her, as if sizing her up.

"I don't think so, not yet at least," she said after a minute. "You have it in writing, I assume?"

Whitefort nodded, and handed her a roll of parchment, seal already broken, which she read quietly.

"Grave news, indeed," she observed eventually. "We'll discuss this later. For now, we must go ahead with the plan as it was, but move things forward more quickly than I intended. I've sent Margaery to fetch her father and some other bannermen, we'll rush Mace into a decision before Tarly can dissuade him."

"You are sure, my lady?" Whitefort asked. "You know that once this is done there is no going back?"

"Of course I'm sure," she snapped back. "I was making decisions like this when you were no more than an itch in your father's balls."

The man smirked and bowed his head in assent but had no chance to reply to her jibe as the flaps of the tent burst open, marking the arrival of Lord Tyrell, accompanied by four men, three of whom Sansa recognised as Loras, Garlan and Paxter Redwyne. Bringing up the rear was a man who Sansa had never seen before, and he was dressed in a purple robe, hooded so that his face was eternally hidden in shadow, but she knew immediately who he was. The Eye of Oldtown, he could be no other.

Before the Targaryens forged the separate kingdoms together, Oldtown was one of the most influential cities in all of the kingdoms of the Andals. There were rumours that Lord Hightower could muster armies to rival those of the Vale, the Rock and, according to some whispers, even those of Highgarden itself. Wielding such power, the Hightowers decided to employ a man to keep his eye on their interests, wherever things of import were happening in Westeros. This man was the Eye of Oldtown, and he grew a notorious reputation, oftentimes appearing just before Oldtown was threatened, and often leaving after the sudden and seemingly natural death of an enemy of his masters.

Nowadays such things did not happen, or at least not as far as Sansa knew, and the Eye was merely a vestige of Oldtown's former glory, an ambassador, no more.

Or, she hoped.

"Ah, my lords," Olenna greeted them all, pulling up a seat around the table. "Take a seat all of you, please."

Mace sat first, taking the seat directly to the right of his mother, and then the other men arranged themselves around the table.

"My guests are to be included in this too," Olenna motioned to Sansa and Whitefort. "Both of you, join us."

It seemed that only then did the Tyrell men realise that Sansa was there, and they all peered at her curiously. She took a seat next to Lord Toras cautiously.

"So, mother," Mace said, stifling a yawn. "What kind of urgent business has caused you to call a council this late in the evening?"

"I've decided on a course of action for Lady Sansa," Olenna stated, her steely gaze locking on both Paxter and Garlan. "I should think that it would be prudent to marry her to Willas, and thereby solidify our security as a house."

If Mace was at all clever, he'd likely have noticed that the news of Olenna's intentions didn't seem to shock anyone around the table except Mace himself. But, as Sansa was quickly beginning to understand, Mace wasn't clever.

"Mother, what is the meaning of this?" he blustered. "Sansa Stark, married to the heir of Highgarden? Are you deluded? Have you not been paying attention?"

"It is actually a sound idea, father," Garlan commented, nodding. "I mean, Lady Sansa here is the heir to Winterfell and should one day inherit the Lord Paramountship of the North, if her brother falls, that is.

"And if he doesn't fall," Paxter picked up from where Garlan left off. "Say if by some miracle, the King in the North manages to defy the odds and keep his crown and his kingdom, then Sansa is useful as a hostage for us, and she could ensure King Robb's goodwill towards Highgarden."

"I am less concerned by the political advantages than the injustice of her current situation," Loras tightened the argument around his father, and by the excited look in the fat lord's face he was not going to need much more persuading. "Have any of you seen how Joffrey has treated the poor lady?"

The men around the table murmured assent, but Sansa was fuming. As she was listening, a burning had sparked to life inside her, a desperate anger. How dare they? How dare they sit there with their political manoeuvring and their arguments, deciding on her future without even acknowledging her presence?

"Oh, how clever and kind you must feel," Sansa interrupted them, her voice shakier than she would have liked. "How charitable, to save the poor Stark girl, traitors for parents and a rebel for a brother! Well answer me this, all of you – have you once thought about what I want? Have you once thought that in all your hypothetical situations and your scheming that there's a girl who just wants to see her mother again? _Have you?!_"

For a moment, the table was in shocked silence, staring at the girl who they had all underestimated; all of them perhaps, except Olenna. "What do you want then, Stark?" the old woman asked. "Tell us, and then we will take your wishes into account as well."

"I… I want…" Sansa hadn't actually expected her to listen. "I want to see my family again, I want to be with them."

It sounded dreadfully childish, and she regretted asking for that the moment that it came out of her mouth, but the men around the table seemed sympathetic.

"She's only fourteen, grandmother," Loras implored her. "Fourteen years old! If we are indeed going to marry her to my brother, which, if you ask me, is a stroke of genius, we can't then butcher her family!"

"The boy is a rebel!" Mace puffed. "It is the duty of all loyal men to crush such people!"

"Oh, don't be an idiot, you fat oaf," Olenna spat. "A few short months ago you were a rebel too, all for putting that vain fool Renly on the throne. Don't speak about loyalty, by the Seven."

"I think that entering negotiations with Stark after we've married Lady Sansa to Willas would be a good idea," Toras observed. "That way he can see that we are treating the girl well and giving her good matches, and perhaps we could arrange a peace given time. Of course, Lord Tywin would need to be consulted. If we get a peace with her family, then perhaps visits from Lady Catelyn could be allowed."

"I shall see what happens as it happens," Olenna said. "But I can assure you, Sansa, that if you marry my grandson your family will come to no harm. But of course, you should be grateful for this; we are not only taking you into our family and protection but using our influence to protect your own kin. You will not forget this, nor the debt you owe House Tyrell."

Olenna spoke sternly and stared at her as she spoke. Sansa was so intimidated that she simply nodded, to show that she understood.

"Right, I have your permission to arrange a betrothal then, Mace?" the Lord of Highgarden's mother asked her son slowly, as if to a slightly deaf old man.

"Yes, I suppose so," he nodded, trying to look shrewd. "I think this deal is good for Highgarden, it'll make our family great again."

"And all down to you, Mace," Olenna poured honey over her sarcastic words and Mace lapped them up. "But I must insist that we organise a show of strength when we place the betrothal before King Joffrey. My lords, I will not mince my words, I have good reason to believe that Cersei Lannister tried to assassinate me this evening."

Around the table, there was a sharp intake of breath; well, from everyone but the Eye of Oldtown, who had remained completely quiet and still throughout the meeting.

"We'll storm the city tomorrow!" Mace stood up and puffed out his chest. "Let the bastards try to assassinate us then!"

Everyone looked up at him and the exhausted looks on their faces betrayed a deep weariness with their lord and father.

"By the Seven, _sit down_," Olenna snapped at him, but he remained standing, glowering down at her. She continued, "Do you honestly think that we'll get anywhere by storming the city, other than another murdered king and more resentment in the realm?"

"I… what do you propose then?" he asked, regarding his wily mother suspiciously.

"We enter the city tomorrow evening with a full guard, one hundred men at arms and fifty knights," she explained. "If queried we say that there has been an attempt on my life, which is perfectly true, and we are protecting ourselves. When we arrive, we fill the throne room with our men. Then we present our request before the King, or Tywin, whichever happens to sit the throne. Tywin knows Cersei was the one who tried to kill me, and he knows me enough to know that I'll know. If they know what's good for them they'll grant it and count themselves lucky that they are not being murdered in their beds."

"An excellent plan, my lady," Toras Whitefort remarked, the beginnings of a grin dancing on his lips.


End file.
